


You Can't Always Get What You Want

by Whreflections



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU in which CoE never happened, Infidelity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After touching a glitchy transporter Ianto and Captain John Hart are transported to a planet in a distant corner of the universe that even John doesn't know. John is adaptable, but Ianto has to learn to adjust without everything he's ever known...right up until Jack comes to rescue them, three years later.  Three years on an alien world is a long time, and while Ianto's still as in love with Jack as he ever was, things just aren't that simple anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this first bit...two years ago now? My best friend(who I'll link soon as I know her new AO3 name, XD) asked for John/Ianto stranded/survival or sexual extortion(both spots on the H/C bingo card I'd just gotten). I told her I'd do both, and I wrote this with plans for a second half to wrap it up. It became clear pretty soon the idea I had for what followed would need a lot more room than that. 
> 
> Finally, I'm working on this again, and it's going to be long enough to do my muse justice....I can't yet tell you quite how long. Also, I'm using this as my first fic transfer to AO3 from my main base on LJ...hi! :) 
> 
> Also, if there's any out there reluctant to read because they want more information on the eventual pairing or pairings, just message me and I'll be happy to tell you.

 

  
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; 

After he started working for Torchwood, Ianto had been fairly certain the possible paths for his life were finite, all laid out in a neat little recognizable array. He thought about things like that. It was important to, really, because you couldn’t quite plan for the future if you didn’t have at least some idea of what your future might be. When he’d worked at Torchwood One, the options had been largely limited to either dying early or living long enough to be promoted, in which case his odds of survival would undergo a drastic upswing. At Torchwood One there’d been more higher ups with desk jobs, and for the most part the retention rate of employees reaching that level was very high. 

Of course, all of that was until Canary Wharf. After that, everything had changed. There was the jumbled in-between, taking care of Lisa and not thinking about the future beyond how they were going to make it to the next day much less anything farther, and then there was Torchwood Three and Jack and a whole mess he hadn’t been ready for. There were possibilities, here. He’d thought that if they found out about Lisa he’d be killed, but that one had never panned out. He’d thought he might be retconned and forced out, if Jack was feeling generous, or that he might opt out on his own, but neither of those things had happened either. At Torchwood Three, there was no promotion past field work. Everyone pulled their own weight, and that simplified things incredibly when it came to considerations of the future. He would die in the line of duty, there was virtually no question about that. 

It was always hardest when things you assumed so utterly were turned on their head, the world yanking from beneath you with an unpleasant lurch that left you scrambling. John Hart had come back, claimed he was done with his old life and wheedled Jack into giving him a job. Four months in and he was still a reckless liability that Jack made excuses for and Ianto did his best to avoid, though that was getting harder. Every day, it came closer to the point where Ianto was going to be forced to admit that reckless or not, he fit into the team as well as anyone else did. Still, he’d been postponing that moment as long as he possibly could. 

They’d been on the tail of an artifact that came from a mobile science museum that had run into trouble and ended up jettisoning some of their more pricey cargo. This piece in particular was an early transporter from a species Ianto had never heard of, glitchy as hell but apparently worth a great deal to the right collectors out there. John had been thrilled at the selling potential, and Jack hadn’t bothered to correct him. All the same, Ianto had been sure that when it came right down to it, Jack would take it and put it into the archives, but that was a theory Ianto would never be able to see proved or disproved now, it seemed. 

They’d reached it at nearly the same time, he and John, and there’d been a pulse of light that almost blinded him. He’d heard Jack’s voice though he couldn’t make out the words, and then something like a rattling hum, and then he was here, stumbling into knee high grass, on a cliff overlooking a city by a slightly too green sea. There were two suns in the sky to his left, one sizable, the other dwarfed beside it, and God, even  _knowing_ all of this was out there, he could barely wrap his mind around it. 

“Well…certainly didn’t expect  _that_  to happen. I mean even shitty as they are, they don’t usually just… _go off_  like that.” John’s voice was distant and too close all at once, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Down there near the city gates, an enormous wagon was being pulled inside by two animals he could have hardly begun to describe. John nudged him, one hand glancing off his shoulder. “First alien world for you, isn’t it Eye Candy?” 

Even if he’d had the words, he wouldn’t have been able to speak. There was another choice, it seemed, one he’d never thought to include in his plans. With Torchwood, you could end up anywhere. And sometimes…sometimes it might be so far you couldn’t get back. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

Everything was systematic, right after he recovered from the shock. He’d turned, told John to enter the date and the Hub into his wrist strap and take them back. 

It was fried, he’d said, short circuited by the raw energy of the pulse from the transporter. It could be fixed, maybe, but he’d never been all that good with electronics and if it was going to work again, someone else would have to do it. 

He’d gone for where, then, asking what he knew about their location. John had glanced around, squinted into the light and peered over the cliff and finally admitted that he had no memory of this place. 

It was then that Ianto turned and walked away without a word, because if he was going to panic, he didn’t want John Hart to see it. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

“We really should stick together.” 

It was well past nightfall, though he’d made it into the city with little trouble Ianto’d spent the rest of the time wandering aimlessly. His thoughts were flickering like a radio channel with heavy static, bits and pieces of some greater whole that might make sense tomorrow once he’d had time to sort out all of the jangling nerves and frantic panic. The people here spoke English, he’d figured that one out pretty quick. And there were  _people_ , lots of them. There were aliens too, of course, lanky and burnt orange with spikes along their wrists and four too pretty golden eyes. They were like nothing he’d ever seen, like nothing Jack had ever shown him or even spoken of, and that was a fact he was trying very hard not to dwell on. 

And at the moment, he was trying desperately to ignore the way John was following just behind his elbow, a lilt to his voice that was annoyingly relaxed. 

“Come on…you could at least acknowledge my existence, you know. I mean, we are stuck here together, and-“

“I don’t care.” And really, he didn’t. Well, not exactly. He cared in that he wished John wasn’t there, but that shouldn’t really count as  _caring_ , should it? “I wouldn’t even be  _in_  this mess if it wasn’t for you, and honestly-“

“Oh, is that it? What, you think I did this on  _purpose_ , you think I  _want_  to be stuck on some backwater colony planet when I could be back on your world taking that damn transporter to sale, hm?” He could practically  _hear_  John rolling his eyes, even without looking back to see him. “Suit yourself, blame me all you want, but my point still stands. If the mainframe registered anything about the sector we were sent to and if Jack comes looking for us-“

“Of course he will.” On that, he had no doubts. 

“- _if_  Jack comes looking for us, we should be together so we’re easier to find. Basic survival training.” 

“Yes, well, we didn’t exactly get lost shopping or on a hike now, did we?” Like when he was younger, and Rhiannon had always told him that if he ever lost her, he should go and stand on the nearest bench, use the height to look until he could pick her out from the crowd. 

“Same principle applies.” John swung around, crossing in front of him to grab his arms and force him to a stop. He jerked backward, one hand twitching toward his gun until John let go, holding his hands up in the air. “Hey, easy! Look, you need me. You do, whether you want to admit it or not. And I’m  _right_ , we shouldn’t split up, not if we ever want to get back, and I know  _you_  do. So just…deal with it, alright? Even if you hate me, you can put up with that much.” 

“Easier said than done, I’d expect.” 

“Oh please, I’m not  _that_  bad.” 

To be completely honest, that was a question for which Ianto had never wanted an answer. If he was as bad of a man as he seemed, hating him was legitimate. If he wasn’t, then it all came down to Ianto hating him because he’d been with Jack, and that…that meant something else entirely. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

Everything that first week he looked at in terms of being temporary, so very fleeting that one day it would be only a distant memory. They got a room at an inn there in town, learned that this was mostly a farming community with their second greatest industry being tourism from the nearby rural areas, largely for the renowned chefs in the downtown district. This was a community that had been settled by humans long ago, and they had assimilated to live beside the hessari, ever intermarrying with them in some cases. In terms of technological advancements they’d actually devolved since they’d been here, their space program dwindling down over the centuries until it was nonexistent. It was no wonder, really, that John had never heard of their world. 

None of that, however, changed Ianto’s certainty that Jack would come. In his mind, there was simply no way he wouldn’t. To start with, it was simply who Jack  _was_. If at all possible, he never left one of his own behind. He fought for them, spectacularly if need be. Jack would never leave a team member, and above that, Jack would never leave  _him_. Not like this. 

He could remember back to just the week before(had it really only been that long?), waking up with Jack in the cot below his office. They’d been naked still from the night before, tangled up in the sheets in the too small bed. He’d woken up underneath Jack to the feel of fingers raking through his hair, a soft kiss against his cheek. He’d smiled as he stirred awake, and blinking up at Jack then there’d been something he could see in Jack’s eyes that couldn’t just be explained away by bleary early morning vision, even as wary about trusting Jack as he’d been since he’d gone off with the Doctor. Finally, they were really getting somewhere. They were happy, and he was starting to think that really, it was well past time Jack met Rhiannon and Johnny and the kids. 

So they got a room, and he took a little of the money John offered him that came from God knows where to pay for the room and a bit of food, but that was it. He ignored him when he said he should be making plans, ignored him when he tried to push him out into the city a little more. 

Jack was coming. He always did. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

At the end of the second month, Ianto got a job. It wasn’t much, just filing in an insurance office, but it was something. Money for food and clothes and a few little things, and he tried very hard not to think about what it meant. Of course, it was too much to hope for that John would just  _let_  him continue to not think about it. 

“Going native I see.” He had the closet door open, fingers running over the light blue tie Ianto’d bought that morning for his first day in the office. 

Annoyed, he crossed the room and slammed the closet door, narrowly missing John’s fingers in the process. “Keep out of it.” 

“Well it’s not an insult! I’m just saying that it seems like you’re adjusting, it’s good, maybe stop all the moping you’ve been-“

He didn’t exactly  _mean_  to punch him, it just sort of happened. It’d been a long time coming, really. He’d thought John deserved a pretty thorough ass kicking almost from the first moment he’d met him, and though he’d mostly been holding himself in check for Jack’s sake his nerves had frayed so far past the breaking point now that he wasn’t too bothered about it anymore. 

John just shook his head, rubbing absently at his jaw, a slight crooked smile still on his lips. “Well, hallelujah. Think you’re finally growing some backbone, Eye Candy.” 

His fist was still raised, hanging awkwardly in the air and he hesitated long enough that he finally just let it drop. “Stop it. Just…just stop.” 

“Look, Eye-“

“And for God’s sake stop  _that_!” Just then, everything about John was grating at him from the stupid names to the way he didn’t even seem ruffled after being punched and yelled at. The man was an infuriating mix of contrasts, somewhere between a stone cold killer and ridiculously laidback. 

He sighed, and when Ianto looked up, for the first time since the mess with Grey he could see something like seriousness in his eyes. “I know you miss him. I know you do. But this sort of thing…it happens. Happened in the Time Agency, and you just learned to roll with the punches. There’s been any number of times I could’ve been stuck somewhere for the rest of my life. Have I? No, obviously, but it could’ve happened and you just  _keep going_  because it’s pointless to dwell on it. Nothing’s worth that.” Their eyes met, John’s flashing with something he couldn’t name. “It’s entirely possible to survive without Jack Harkness. I promise you that.” 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

In his pocket, he kept a calendar of the days. The revolution around the suns was 245 days here so he’d made it himself, constructed from memory and drawn in meticulous little squares in a pocket notebook. In Cardiff, it would be October, then. Last year around this time he’d started making spiced coffee, just because Jack had complained that if Starbucks could fix up  _their_  coffee, he should be able to offer something different too. Jack had loved it, and after the first taste he’d backed Ianto up against the counter in the kitchen and kissed him, letting Ianto taste it on his tongue. 

It was a funny thing, being stranded out in the vastness of the universe like this. It made him think, not just on everything he missed about Jack or even just on everything he missed about Torchwood, but  _all_  of it, everything that made up the substance of a life on earth. If he’d been home, he could’ve taken David and Mica to a bonfire, could’ve gone to a film in town, could’ve had dinner with his sister. Nevermind that he hardly(if ever) did those things  _before_ , it was the thought that mattered, the possibility. At home, he at least  _could’ve_  if he decided he wanted to. Now, he had no choice, no ability to change his mind. Their contact information was in the diary he knew Jack read. He wondered what he’d told them, if he’d given them any hope. He wondered how she’d taken it, whether she believed Jack, whether she thought he was dead. 

Ianto curled his hands around the warm mug he held, sipping at the tea inside as he leaned a little harder against the railing. It was still hot, here, but there were some things that were comforting. They didn’t have coffee, but they did have their own form of tea. Ironic, really, that he’d had to come all the way out here before he started drinking tea instead of coffee like a proper Welshman. 

He heard the door chime open behind him, John slipping out onto the balcony. It was late, nearly the middle of the night, but it was hardly unusual for him to get in this late. He didn’t know what John did, here, and he never asked. It was unlikely he wanted to know. 

“Didn’t expect to find  _you_  still awake.” 

No, he usually wasn’t. Five months in and they’d moved, gotten this apartment that overlooked the carriage center down below. There were rakas calling to each other from their stalls all the time, but this place was cheap and it was worth it. There was more privacy, like this, the ability to shut himself in his room when he got home from work and try and forget that the only piece of anything remotely like home he had left was a man he’d never wanted around in the first place. He reached up, wiping away the tear at the corner of his eye that he hadn’t even noticed until he’d heard John coming. 

John’s hands curled over his shoulders, warm and shockingly gentle, and Ianto jerked away, hot tea spilling over his fingers. 

“Have to try, don’t I?” He muttered it low under his breath, shaking his head once as he leaned backwards against the railing, watching Ianto out of the corner of his eye. He’d taken his jacket off, kept only the white t-shirt underneath that rose up just a little when he slouched against the rail. “Seriously, you need to get out of here, go around town a little. I can’t remember the last time you’ve said five words to me and-“

“I talk.” Even so he had to admit, it seemed hard, now. Not that he’d ever been very verbose to begin with, not when he didn’t feel like talking. 

“When forced.” John leaned back a little farther, eyes shut as he tipped his head up into the moonlight. “I don’t know what he told you, about me, but I’m not…we were agents together, you know. We met at the academy, shared a room for 3 years before we graduated and went out into the universe. I know all his secrets, all the old ones at least, and whatever reason he might give for warning you about me, I’d bet every ounce of currency I’ve ever made that  _that’s_  his real reason for trying to keep you all away. He’s afraid of what I’ll tell you, and to be honest, I could tell you  _a lot_.” 

Ianto fidgeted, hated how interested he looked almost as much as he hated the fact that there was so much he still wanted to know. He’d told himself that Jack would tell him one day, but now…

“What he seems to fail to understand is that I won’t. Not when he’s so set against it. Not without anything in it for me, anyway. And what  _you_  don’t understand is that your white knight isn’t quite as virtuous as you’d like to believe. I was there, Ianto.” 

The use of his name made him jump, starting almost enough to drop the mug. It was nearly impossible to remember the last time John had actually called him by his name. He turned to set it down on the table, leaning back against the rail next to John, just a little closer than before. When he looked over, his eyes flicked back away twice before he actually decided to speak. “I don’t know what you’re-“

“Grey. He was obsessed with it, finding him, and God knows I couldn’t blame him. He told me; I was one of the first he  _had_ told, and it meant…it meant more to me than I ever told him, to be perfectly honest. But it was a crusade for him, he was all tunnel vision and guilt and nothing I ever said on that subject got through. Hell, I’m not even sure he much remembers me trying to help.” 

“Oh, and a lot of good that did, didn’t it? You should’ve never brought him back, should’ve never-“

“Oh please, do you think he couldn’t have found Jack without my help? He would’ve, and then I wouldn’t have even known, couldn’t have been there to so much as  _warn_  him. And besides, I didn’t know! Not at first!” He pushed away from the railing, gesturing wildly as his voice rose. “I mean, what the hell do you think, he walked up to me and introduced himself as a raving psychopath? I found him,  _tortured_ , weak, and I did  _everything_  I could to save him! By the time he let his cover slip enough for me to tell something was wrong, I’d already told him everything. I thought telling him about Jack would be the best thing I could do, make sure he knew his brother was safe; I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

It was sound, really, sounder logic than Ianto wanted to hear. They hadn’t talked about this, not really, not since the day itself. Some of his own last words on the subject had been that he’d kill John if Jack wasn’t found, and the sentiment still held, the thought of Jack buried under tons of earth, gasping as the dirt filled his lungs was one that never failed to instill him with furious rage, a protective anger so instinctive he was almost on the verge of throwing another punch already. 

“You buried him alive.” 

“Yes, and getting myself blown up with no way to get the word back to your league of heroes, that would have done Jack more good, would it?” 

He whirled to the side, reaching out to grab John by the collar of his shirt, pushing him back just a little further against the railing. “You could’ve killed Grey. Jack had the vortex manipulator; he could’ve gotten home. You just… _did_  that to him, left him there, you were just thinking about your own  _fucking_  skin and-“

“He needed it!” He was yelling, now, but it was the words more than the volume that stopped Ianto dead. “He wanted it, for Christ’s sake he  _asked_  me to go through with it. He…he’s got the most guilty conscience of anyone I’ve ever known, which is ironic really because he didn’t  _used_  to be that way, but it’s all water over the dam now. If I hadn’t gone through with it, he’d just have found another way to punish himself for what he thought he deserved, and at least that way I-“ 

Ianto hardly realized the fact that he’d cocked his arm back to punch him again, not until John caught his fist and pushed him back, all the way, right up against the glass door leading back inside. He’d never actually  _fought_  with John, not really, and he was more than a little unnerved by just how unmatched he’d actually be if it came to that. John’s hand closed around his throat, the other easily batting away Ianto’s attempts to push him back. 

“You know, strange thing…no matter how many times you hit me, it won’t actually change the fact that I know Jack better than you.” He paused, let it sink in before he kept going. “The real irony of it all is that for the most part, I’m just trying to warn you. All this time you’re spending, thinking about him? Even if we ever get out of here, he may give you a few more years, Ianto, but with Jack, everything always ends. You’d do well to understand that.” He eased up on his grip, his fingers almost stroking now over Ianto’s pulse rather than restraining. “But you’re wrong, about me. I didn’t want to leave him. Not then, and not when he left the Time Agency. Those were Jack’s choices. I just let him make them.” 

It was too much, too many implications and too much information and Ianto gritted his teeth, held his head just a little higher. “And why should I believe you? The first time we met you, you lied about  _everything_. You  _killed_  Jack.” The more he thought about it, the more blame he could find to rest on his shoulders. 

“Oh I didn’t lie about  _everything_. Just enough to get you lot to buy my story. See, I only lie when it gets me to what I want. Jack, well…he just lies. Now which one of those is better, hm?” He was just about to answer when suddenly John was too close, breath brushing hot against his lips. “I can see what he saw in you, you know. You may not quite look it on the surface, but you’re just his type. Plenty of spirit, a little too much anger. Amusing, when you want to be. And so pretty, it just isn’t  _fair_ …” 

There was the brush of warm lips against his jaw, then, and when Ianto reached up to shove John back this time he didn’t meet with much resistance. He meant to order him out, to tell him off, to counter everything he’d said about Jack or at least something he’d said about  _Ianto_ , but standing there with the silence stretching on between them nothing came to mind. He could still feel the way John had pressed against him, the flex of unfamiliar fingers against his throat and he could feel welling panic at the back of his throat when he realized that he was remembering those things with barely concealed interest rather than revulsion. 

Even the thought was too much, and he left as quickly as he could, not even daring to look back until there was a locked door between them. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

Ianto wasn’t gay. Really, he wasn’t. 

On some level, though, he  _did_  realize that now was a very odd time to be considering the question of his sexuality. After all, he’d been sleeping with Jack for around four years altogether, if he counted the time when it was  _only_  sex as well as the months Jack had been away. That was quite some time to be regularly sharing a bed with another man and yet not have really put too much thought into the question of what that meant. 

Honestly, he really  _had_  assumed it was just Jack. The attraction he’d felt from the moment they met was undeniable, and the first time they’d kissed in Jack’s office he’d have sworn the world was spinning in ways it hadn’t even when he’d kissed Mary Anne for the first time out behind her father’s house. And sure, he loved everything about being with Jack, from the way Jack felt inside him to sucking him down and listening to the sounds he made, but wasn’t that, too, just because it was Jack? 

For the sake of simplification, he’d taken that as the answer. Now, though, he was being forced to wonder. He’d been uneasy around John before in ways that he was now retroactively examining for potential meaning, because  _now_ …now, it went beyond ignoring. The feel of John’s body against his at the door had been burned into his mind, a memory he couldn’t shake any more than he could his  _response_  to the memory. Desire, unmistakably, and that…that couldn’t be. 

He cast around, first, for an answer that might give him at least a little more peace of mind. John was another 51st century man, after all. Pheromones couldn’t be ruled out…except that they could, because he knew enough about pheromones to know that while John wouldn’t smell exactly like Jack, they’d be noticeable enough that he’d  _know_. He hadn’t noticed that, not yet at least. 

Next, he landed on the thought that it had been quite awhile, now, since he’d had anyone beyond his own hand. Months, since Jack. He thought briefly, wildly, of going out and finding a woman. It wouldn’t be hard, really, because he’d pulled it off before and he was sure he could again, but the thought of it felt wrong, still, and the guilt and distaste that flooded him at the thought was enough to push it back. It wasn’t just sex he wanted, clearly, and that…that left only John. 

He tried to tell himself it was insane, because even  _if_ , even if he was forced to admit that he was a perhaps far less straight than he’d been telling himself, it made  _no_  sense for him to be interested in John. Except…maybe it did. That was the nagging voice that wouldn’t go away, that pointed out everything from the fact that ever since the fight on the balcony they’d been meeting in the middle a little more, and he’d been spending less time shut up in his room and he had to admit, John was funny and smooth and even surprisingly nice at times and  _fuck_ , it all made him nauseous. 

Even here, slapped down into a life more ordinary than he’d have ever imagined, apparently  _nothing_  for him could ever be simple. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

He wasn’t sure what woke him at first, but after he’d shaken off the slightly disoriented feeling of being somewhere between awake and asleep, he could hear the music drifting under the door. He rolled over, almost reached for the clock on his bedside table before he decided not to bother. He knew it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours since he’d gone to bed, and that had been late enough on its own that he’d assumed John wasn’t coming in that night. Sometimes, he didn’t. 

He threw the covers off, walked to the door and pushed it open quick to step out into the living room. The light closest to the balcony was on, dimly, and John was sitting in the chair beside it, sideways, feet kicked up against the back of the chair next to it. He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Oh. Did I wake you?” 

Suddenly, Ianto was a little more aware of the fact that he’d gone to bed in nothing but his boxers. He swallowed, refused to let his rising nerves show. “You know, you’re far less subtle than you think.” 

“Wasn’t really going for subtle at all.” He shifted, boots hitting the floor with a low thud as he stood. He reached into his pocket as he crossed the room, pulling out two vials of something that he mostly hid behind his hand. “Here. I brought you something.” 

‘Something’ was an iridescent blue, shimmering like liquid opal inside the glass. He didn’t have the faintest idea what it was  _precisely_ , but the basic idea was obvious. Still he took it, turning it over in his hand and watching the light play off the surface. 

“…this is how you’ve been making your money, selling this, isn’t it?” 

“Don’t tell me you’re shocked. Did you think I was running an orphanage?” 

“How much?” 

“Good enough. Best trade on  _this_  planet, anyway. I mean, it’s not anywhere near as good as anything from, say, Orion, but it’s decent. And, it has its assets.” He held up the other vial, twirling it lightly through his fingers. “More fun in numbers.” 

There was no possible meaning of that that boded well for him taking it. Of course, not that he’d even been considering. Not really. 

“Right.” Ianto tried to push the vial back into John’s hands, persistent with the pressure when he didn’t immediately take it. “I’m sure you can find more than enough takers if you’re looking to share.” 

“I could. I  _have_ , but really, that’s not the point.” He wouldn’t take it, pulled his hand away instead. “I told you, it’s for you.” His eyebrows rose, questioning. “Don’t tell me you’ve never taken  _anything_ ; you went to university didn’t you?” 

“Didn’t have much time to waste. Too busy working.” It wasn’t as if his father could’ve paid for it, and even if he could’ve it wasn’t as if he  _would’ve_. 

“Seriously?  _Seriously_  you’ve lived…how long? And you’ve never-“

“I didn’t say that.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, muttered under his breath but John heard him all the same. There’d been once with Lisa at a party, and though they’d both gotten a good laugh off it they’d never gone for it again. With Jack…well, of course there’d been a little with Jack, but only on a small handful of occasions. There was one night that had come out fuzzy, but what was easily the best drug he’d ever tried he remembered with perfect clarity. It was Jack’s favorite, he’d said, something he’d found on a planet whose name Ianto couldn’t remember. It required injecting, and he’d tensed up a little when Jack had tied off around the crease of his arm, thumb skimming down to find the vein. He’d brushed a kiss over it first, their eyes meeting as he whispered against his skin with absolutely sincerity that if he’d changed his mind, it would be alright, he wouldn’t care. He’d told Jack then that he trusted him, and it was almost all the way true. He could still feel the way Jack’s hands had felt against his skin after, like fire, blazing hot and impossibly wonderful. Like they were melting together, and he’d fall into insubstantial pieces if they separated for so much as a second. Ianto raked his fingers back through his hair, shaking his head just a little to rid himself of the memories. 

“Look, forget it. I’m not going to-“

“Did I misjudge you then? Because, see,  _I_  thought…there’s got to be more to you than this.” He stepped back, just a little, enough that Ianto could feel the stir of cool air as he pointed back toward Ianto’s room. “All of it, the…the suits and the calm attitude, I’ve  _seen_  it break before. Hell, I’ve seen it break a few times in the past few weeks alone so is  _that_  the defense, hm? You just pretend there’s more?” 

_That_  got him, and he thought, fleetingly, that even though this was probably a trap, it was one he couldn’t help walking into. “You have  _no idea_  what you’re talking about; you don’t know the first thing about me, you-“

“Then  _show me_! Do something for yourself for once! Or are you too scared of what could happen, too scared you’ll  _like_  it or that you’ll-“

To hell with it. He jerked the lid off the vial, was tilting it up when he felt John’s hands on his, guiding him. 

“Easy. Get most of it under your tongue, if you can. Swallow slowly.” One hand stroked down Ianto’s throat, and he shivered a little at the touch. “That’s it. Now just relax.” He let go, tilted his head back to take his own, and Ianto focused on still swallowing the remaining bits slowly, one hand reaching down to anchor himself on the back of the couch to keep his head from spinning. The rush was nearly instantaneous, enough that he was already lightheaded, and when he reached his other hand out meaning to pull the chair closer he got caught up in watching the movement. There was a jewel bright trail of brilliant color shimmering just behind his hand, seeming to hover in the air wherever he’d just left. It clung to his skin, too, color cascading over his arms, his chest. He tilted his head to the side, watching with curiosity as the inside of his arm swirled with blue. 

“It’s like LSD.” He reached out, thumb pressing against his wrist as he watched the swirls deepen to a rich shade of purple, spreading out from the point where his thumb touched. 

“Eh, yes and no. Not as trippy, actually, you don’t really hallucinate. It’s a type of disorienting heat vision, partially extracted from the venom of one of the animals here. But, the other components give it the bonus of giving a pretty damn good high. Like I said…” His hand went to Ianto’s neck again, fingers tracing against the hollow of his throat, and he could definitely feel it, the crackle of something like electricity between them. “It has its benefits.” 

Apparently. He shifted away, settled down in the chair and turned the music up, and for two hours they drifted through rambling conversation. His mind couldn’t seem to hold a thought for more than a few seconds together, and the more John talked about the Time Agency the more his own memories flicked backwards like a TV on scan, and before he knew it he was talking about Torchwood One and Lisa and his father and how he’d always said Ianto had his sights set too high for his own good, all because he wanted better than how he’d grown up. 

John was in the middle of a story about being held captive on Valdimar, he and Jack in the dungeon of a collector of alien specimens and suddenly Ianto was sprawled against John on the couch, watching the shift of green swirls across his jaw as they followed Ianto’s fingers before he leaned in to kiss him. John hummed low in his throat, warm and pleased, and his hands caught on Ianto’s hips, pulling him forward a little more into his lap. He tasted spicy and different and whether it was the drug or not, it was  _good_. 

There was something in touch that humans seemed to require, something about the very act that filled a gap that could almost be forgotten if you went long enough without it. John’s hands were sliding up and down his back, questing fingers acquainting themselves for the first time. Ianto moaned, arching into the caress, and John held on just a little tighter. 

Ianto broke the kiss, caught his breath before tangling his fingers in John’s hair to tip his head back, giving himself the right access to find the spot he always knew could make Jack squirm, and it was then that he actually realized what he was doing. There was part of him, probably the larger part, that knew this was John, but the rest of him, all the subconscious bits he couldn’t do anything about still saw Jack, and the moment he came to that jumbled realization was sharply painful. He jerked away, stumbling back off the couch and barely finding his feet. John caught his wrist, tried to hold him but he yanked his arm away without a word. 

He could hear John trying to pick the lock to his door not five minutes later, and he slammed his fist against the door, hard enough to rattle it. It should’ve been ineffective, really, but it got the point across. John stopped, and through the thin wood between them Ianto heard him sigh. 

“It’d be expecting too much to ask you to be reasonable about this, wouldn’t it?” 

He swallowed hard, sliding down until he sat with his back against the door. Now that he wanted to think, the lightheaded inability to focus on anything was sort of a problem. “I’m…I was  _with_  Jack. It was important, it was everything, and…and if we get back, then I’ll…” Even saying it, he knew now that it sounded like the desperate hope of a child. If they hadn’t been found yet, there was little chance they ever would be. It had been 8 months already. His voice dropped, barely a whisper. “I loved him.  I still love him.  Can’t you understand that, John? Can’t you understand, I  _really_ -“

“So do I.” He sounded just as tired, just as frustratingly honest, and Ianto didn’t have an answer. They lapsed into silence, and he fell asleep against the door without bothering to get up. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

He’d heard, back on earth, that the first time cheating was the hardest. Personally, he wasn’t exactly sure that was true. Before, with Lisa, it had been different, hard to judge. She’d been downstairs in the basement, and he’d been a few floors up falling into bed with Jack and it wasn’t  _then_  that he’d felt guilty. Then, it had been all rush and adrenaline and losing himself in Jack. Later, back home, then the guilt had crushed him a little, but even then, it hadn’t been the worst. The worst had come after he realized just how drawn to Jack he was, because everything that followed after was almost inevitable. 

This, it wasn’t the same, not really, but still everything leading up to it seemed like it had been the hardest part. All the agonizing…at the moment he made up his mind, it at least seemed like that had been harder. Now, he mostly just felt exhausted. At least, at first. 

The sound of his own belt clinking open brought him all the way back to the present. John worked the zipper down, just enough to get Ianto’s pants a little lower on his hips. He stopped then, wrapping his arm around Ianto’s waist and angling his hips up, holding him close at just the right angle for it to feel more amazing than it had any right to with clothes still between them when John moved against him. 

He moaned, low and hungry and absolutely beyond his control. It had been too long, and it wasn’t supposed to feel like  _this_. He’d expected hard and fast, good or fantastic even, but rough and impersonal. Nothing like Jack. This, this was slow and deliberate, meticulous, with a similar burning intensity. For a minute all he could he think was how they must have been good together, but when  _that_  thought hurt it was followed right on its heels by guilt strong enough to make him reach up and push back against John’s shoulders, putting a little distance between them. 

“…no.” He couldn’t look at him when he said it, his eyes flicking away. Nervous, he bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. “No, I can’t.” 

“Shhh…yes you can.” His lips were there all of a sudden, sucking Ianto’s lower lip in-between, soothing the cut. “You can.” He pressed close again, rolling their hips together and  _God_ , he was just too fluid. No one moved like that. 

He tried to shake his head, the wrongness of it all still nagging somewhere inside his chest. “No, I can’t, Jack-“

“-wouldn’t think twice. C’mon, you know that.” Ianto wasn’t sure, not anymore. Once, he would’ve been. John’s palm pressed against the small of his back, warm and strong, and he took control of a kiss that left Ianto trembling against him, nails digging in hard against John’s back. Somehow, he was pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. “See, you can. You can do this.” 

Jack would’ve taken no for an answer. Not that he’d ever said no to Jack, not once. He’d never had the slightest wish. But Jack wasn’t here, and he if he kept dwelling on that fact every minute, he was starting to think he might actually go mad. 

John’s arm slid from around his waist, both hands coming up to frame his face as he leaned in to take a lazy kiss, open and unhurried. He was smiling when he pulled back, easy and confidant, and there was something a little too honest in his eyes when his thumbs brushed at the corners of Ianto’s mouth. “God, you’re beautiful. You don’t have any idea, do you? Absolutely bloody gorgeous.” Another kiss, and that time John moaned as he tasted him, pure desire condensed into sound. Ianto held him there, let it deepen until they were both lost in it. Really, there was no point in fighting it anymore. 

He put everything else out of his mind, let everything go. Or at least, he tried to. He succeeded for the most part, but some aches went too deep to be forgotten. When John pushed into him it was slow but with the feel of practiced ease, and for a minute he couldn’t help but remember the way Jack’s arms had tightened around him, hips jerking forward and Ianto’s name on his lips. God only knew how many times he’d been through that with new lovers in his life, and still he’d been able to make the great Jack Harkness lose control, if only for a moment. It had meant something, something important and lasting. At least, that’s what his heart had kept believing even when he tried in vain to corral it behind caution. It had been too late; he’d fallen too hard for Jack to keep himself from believing he was ‘the one’. That didn’t mean, though, that Jack had to know. He’d kept it to himself for a long time, as much as he could, but  _damn_  he’d believed. 

It hadn’t been that long ago, but maybe being transported to an alien world aged you. It would be an interesting hypothesis for study, at least. Imaginary or not, nearly 9 months had felt ages longer. Looking back on it all now, he seemed so very young, then. The future had stretched out before him, some interminable amount of time between there and his eventual death-by-Torchwood. He’d spend his life with Jack, and by the end of it he wouldn’t be sorry. He really had been so very young. 

Afterwards, he meant to get up and get dressed, to retreat before everything could start to sink in. Instead he found himself with his head on John’s chest, eyes closed as the weight of it became all too real. 

John kneaded at the back of his neck, rough and affectionate all at once. “Stop thinking so hard, hm? For God’s sake, you practically went through mourning. He wouldn’t blame you.” 

No, he wouldn’t, but that thought was about as far from comforting as anything could have possibly been. 

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ 

Looking at it with the eye of an observer, life progressed in stages. 

There were the months after he’d first come here, frantic and painful and something just short of insanity, and then he reached the point where he and John crashed together, and there the defining lines blurred a bit because he wasn’t exactly sure when he’d stopped fighting it. 

After that came a new era, learning how to accept John’s less than legal activities with less judgment, learning that John could make out with their neighbor from two floors down at a club and mean nothing by it, learning that while there was something odd in starting a relationship with someone you were already living with, it was doable. They fought, spectacularly at times, and they spent enough time laughing that Ianto remembered how much he enjoyed it. John came by the office one afternoon and kissed him in front of a handful of people Ianto had never informed of his existence, and oddly enough it was then he decided he  _had_  to be alright with the fact that he wasn’t all the way straight, not really, because not coming to terms with it then would’ve put distance between the two of them that he didn’t want. John wasn’t exactly a very subtle person, after all. Altogether, it wasn’t as hard as his subconscious had seemed to think it would be all along. 

It wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t even sure he could say it was ‘right’, but it was something. Something good, even. The way he saw it, they were mismatched pieces. The parts of the puzzle that hadn’t fit in right, set to the side until they could be forced together. Sometimes a little violently, but they could be made to work. If they’d both had their choice, Ianto didn’t believe there was any doubt they both would’ve chosen Jack over each other, but a few months into their second year together, he realized that had stopped bothering him. It was what it was. Or, as a fortune cookie Tosh had gotten once said “It could be better, but it’s good enough.”. 

Three years after ending up on a world he couldn’t have imagined, he woke up to the sound of pots clattering in the kitchen. Investigating, he watched from the doorway as John bent down to stroke the back of a tiny seri, local pets that reminded Ianto a bit of small cats with bat wings. It was a baby, clearly, and it was lapping water rather clumsily out of one of their best dishes. 

John looked up, smiling when he saw Ianto leaning against the door. “He hit the glass, in the living room. Last night sometime, I picked him up after I came in.” 

“Might be the neighbor’s down the hall. I believe theirs was pregnant awhile back. After breakfast we can-“

“What, we can’t just keep him?” 

John ruffled the baby’s fur and he chirped, raising his head from the water dish to blink sharp golden eyes up at Ianto. There were dishes in the sink and they’d gone shopping for new paint for the living room 2 months ago and now they had _t_ _his_. At one time in his life he’d wondered if he’d ever actually do domestic, but somehow it had crept up on him before he knew it. Sure, it could’ve been better, but it was well more than good enough. 

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; 

  



	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Jack comes to the rescue. Only after three years, he wasn't exactly expected, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So like…two years ago? I wrote this story for my H/C Bingo card that my best friend had asked for. It was SO much fun, and I loved doing it, and I already had part 2 in mind which would wrap it up…only I didn’t write it then, and it got lost in the shuffle of my ‘to do’ list, and that thing? It’s a black hole, seriously. It’s amazing any story makes it out of there alive. 
> 
> But in any case, after Dragon*Con and seeing John Barrowman(oh God that was wonderful) I got the urge to come back and finish this story, :) 
> 
> SO, here goes…

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;   
  
 _Put another ‘x’ on the calendar,  
Summer’s on its deathbed  
There is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends.  
And I meant  
Everything I said that night  
I will come back to life…  
But only for you  
-Calendar, Panic! At the Disco_  
  
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;   
  
Ianto Jones had kept a diary since he was 15 years old. Owen probably would have said this fact should have been an early sign that he wasn’t an altogether straight man, and Ianto would’ve rolled his eyes. He still thought about things like that, sometimes, what Owen and Tosh and Rhiannon would’ve said about things that he was thinking or doing long after they were gone. It was still reflex, ever present and unshakable, not that he’d tried overly hard to be rid of it. Even if they reminded him of everything he’d lost, the memories grounded him all the same, kept him tethered to a past he never wanted to forget even if he’d never again possess a single part of it.   
  
  
That was, at least, the fact that he’d come to terms with. Life was here, now, under two mismatched suns that grew ever more familiar by the month. The week before last he’d gone out into the country on business, and when he’d first seen the city come back into view around the bend he’d pushed open the window of the carriage, breathed in the warm summer air and been able to think nothing else but that he’d come home.  _Home._    
  
  
That night, he’d put the calendar away, ripped out the little squares of paper he kept in his jacket pocket marking off the date it  _would’ve_  been back in Wales. It had become little more than a habit over time, and he’d realized suddenly that he didn’t need it anymore. What good did it do to realize that it was Christmas when there were  _other_  holidays to remember, when he’d never be experiencing another Christmas in his life? What did it matter if it was the thick of the rainiest season on a world God knows how many millions of light years away when here the sun was shining down hot in the square?   
  
  
He hadn’t thrown it out, had instead tucked it lovingly into the back of the first diary he’d finished since coming here, slipping it snug between the last two pages. Someday, he might want to take it out and look at it again, when he was old and had forgotten exactly how many days were in the month of September.   
  
  
He didn’t feel that he had changed, so much as merely adapted. All the best invasive species were masters at it, adaptation. When faced with new ground they took it in, drank it greedily until they’d made themselves at home. With as far as they seemed to reach across the galaxy, Ianto had started to wonder if maybe that wasn’t true of his own kind, if humans weren’t the starlings of the interstellar ecosystem. Ever present and thriving but rarely desired in large numbers.   
  
  
The keeping of the diaries themselves, then, wasn’t something that had needed changing. In fact, in a sense he’d needed them more than ever, especially at first. A place for his thoughts, his panic, his fears, his decreasingly reluctant pleasure in aspects of his new life. It gave him space to think, and though he wasn’t stupid enough to think John had never pulled it out and read it, he’d never let that knowledge effect what he wrote and it had never been spoken of. Considering his carefree attitude about his own life, John was typically nothing if not tolerant.   
  
  
These days, though, the entries had become a little sparse. He’d been busy and things between the two of them had been easy and he’d felt surprisingly little stress after tucking the calendar out of sight. There were no indications of anything but a continuation of forward motion, everything all smooth, uneddied current.   
  
  
For that morning, (November 5th, if he’d bothered to pull out his old calendar), he’d written only this:   
  
  
 _Running late again. If Nos doesn’t stop making a mess of the living room after John comes in and wakes him up we’ll have to start shutting him up at night. God, I can only imagine the screeching. Still, don’t suppose I can complain since I agreed to take him, can I? And if I’m honest, I really did want him. I think he’s actually quite intelligent for his age, but then, neither of us really knows what to expect of him.  
  
  
Meeting John for lunch today, if he can get up in time. Have to remember to stop by the store on the way home, see if they have the estimate on the cart finished.   
  
  
For now, that’s about it, and I have to go if I want to make it anyway. Tomorrow at least is my day off. If Nos makes a wreck of things, I’ll pretend to sleep through it. _  
  
  
There was nothing else. No notes, no inklings or inclinations, nothing but a perfectly average morning in the stretch of a long summer. 7 days after there’d be a page filled with musings, half hearted remarks that there should have been some sort of sign, like strange birds or dying plants or oddly positioned rain clouds. In continuation of the course of events up until that point, his life seemed determine to offer him no portent of change, nothing at all beyond blatant normalcy.   
  
  
All of that, however, is mostly irrelevant. Questions that stall the inevitable other questions, the ones with actual weight, the ones he tries to pin down with distractions rather than allow himself to think. At that point, there was nothing that could have prepared him, nothing that could have ever made him suspect anything but continuation.   
  
  
He tries not to think of it, because when he does, nothing is resolved. It only drags at him, heavy and sinking. Because even if he’d known, even if he’d had a few days to let it sink in…he still isn’t sure he would have done anything different.   
  
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
It was nearly always hot, here. Winter was short, fall and spring shorter still, and the summer long and full of plenty of heat. It varied over its length of course, so much that the natives here called three different segments of it by their own names, but to Ianto it was still all summer. There was heat and brilliant sunlight and regardless of variations, those things branded it.   
  
  
The activity of the square bustled around him as he edged in close to the fountain, the mass of bodies just barely parting around it. They were hessari and human and animal, a teeming mixture that only eased up far after sundown. Even then, the dull rumble of rakas’ hooves striking dirt could be heard throughout the night, especially here so near the carriage center. There were certainly benefits to living here in the heart of town, but the press of the crowd wasn’t always one of them.   
  
  
Ianto had just reached up to loosen his tie, distracted as his mind drifted off on thoughts of the oppressive heat and how John was always late and yet he’d grown so accustomed to it. He saw nothing out of the ordinary in the crowd around him, but then again, he wasn’t really paying attention. There was something, though, something he was missing, and the shock of it was more than enough to jolt him into the present.   
  
  
“ _Ianto_!”   
  
  
Saying he twitched wouldn’t have been the right word. It was quite literally a shock, an electric jolt that seemed to start from the frantic lurch in his heart or the wonder in his mind, but either way it travelled faster than he could blink, faster even than he could turn. By the time he did manage it, his breath caught in his throat, barely holding up a head that was already dizzy…by then? Jack was right there.   
  
  
Their eyes met, Jack’s hands already coming up to frame his face, and God, Ianto would’ve sworn anyone watching could’ve just seen the years fall away from him. It was as if nothing had changed, not a day, not a moment, nothing different but the worry and panic quickly fading to triumph in Jack’s eyes. His touch was soft and strong and so unceasingly  _warm_ , and his scent filled the space between them, intoxicating as it wafted forward on the breeze. Right then, at that moment, it could’ve been Cardiff Bay or the Hub or Ianto’s old flat, everything else had dissolved, and he didn’t even get the chance to take a proper breath.   
  
  
The hands that cupped his cheeks pulled him forward, careful but insistent, and Jack closed the last distance between them with a kiss.  _God_ , could Jack kiss. He’d never forgotten this, or anything else for that matter, but being confronted with it was something else entirely. This kiss was ravenous, frantic in a way that seemed to have less to do with outright desire than it did the easy way Jack was stroking his thumbs against his skin, the soft, desperate sound he made low in his throat at the first taste of Ianto on his tongue. His hands had already found their way to Jack’s coat, and they fisted in it at the sound, instinctively tugging him closer. It was easy, so easy, and it wasn’t until his teeth grazed Jack’s lip that his mind flooded with everything else.   
  
  
The square, the present itself, John.  _John._  He pulled back with a gasp, the slightly nauseating guilt that he swallowed back strong enough to rival the dizzying force of Jack in his arms, at least for the moment. His thoughts tumbled, an incoherent mass. His tongue flicked out against his lips, buying himself a little bit of time, but the rush of tasting Jack there did nothing to stabilize him, and it didn’t matter anyway. He was out of time.   
  
  
“ _Well_. Is it my turn now, hm?” John’s voice drifted across, lilting and easy, and if he hadn’t been living with the man for three years, he wouldn’t have been able to hear the strain. Oh, it was there, in the faint edge he was fairly sure only he and Jack would’ve ever been able to tell. Around them the crowd was still shifting, parting like water, like they’d become a fixture along with the fountain. A few might have stopped to see he and Jack kiss but none of those observers had lingered. To Ianto it was disorienting because this, this was earthshattering. If a moment in his life had ever been worthy of gawking, this had to be it.   
  
  
Jack hadn’t let go of him, not for a second. His grip slacked a little, drifted down until his hands rested loosely against Ianto’s neck, thumbs still absently brushing across his skin as if he couldn’t get enough of the actual act of touching him, like he’d fade away under Jack’s fingertips if he didn’t keep it up.   
  
  
“Think we’ve filled our quota of dramatic reunions.” In his dreams sometimes, Ianto had still been able to hear Jack’s voice. It had always been there, solid and strong, but in actually hearing it again he couldn’t help but feel that he’d never remembered it, not properly.   
  
  
Jack had turned to find John in the crowd but his eyes came back to Ianto now, familiar and yet shockingly blue. “I can’t believe I found you. Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve-“  
  
  
“Been searching high and low, I’m sure. Well…” John was closing in, though he didn’t actually come as close as Ianto expected but stopped at least a foot away, arms crossing over his chest as he studied Jack through only slightly narrowed eyes. “At least, I’m sure you looked when the Rift wasn’t active. Or when some crackpot wasn’t taking your time with God knows what from their uncle’s basement, or if your team-“  
  
  
“ _John_ -“  
  
  
“I’ve been-“   
  
  
They spoke at exactly the same time, and though Jack was louder, indignant bordering on outright anger, it was Ianto’s voice that drew him up short. A sharp, hissed whisper, too familiar to be casual irritation, and too well obeyed to be typical anger. John had backed off at the sound, hands half thrown up in mock defeat for a moment before crossing them again in defiance.   
  
  
It wasn’t enough on its own for Jack to know everything, of course it wasn’t, but Ianto’s stomach roiled as if it was anyway. His hands were still clinging to Jack’s coat like a lifeline and he willed himself to let go, nearly muttered a curse at the cramping in his fingers from how tightly he’d held on. Jack didn’t know, he couldn’t, but he  _had_  to. There was no way around it, nothing. He knew and hated himself for knowing, for hating that it was true. For God’s sakes, he’d made a commitment, and yet the span of about 60 seconds had him choking on overwhelming guilt over the past 3 years. It was physically hard to shove back, a clawing in his throat that wouldn’t let him swallow.   
  
  
“Jack,-“ At first, he could get no farther. The word stuck on his tongue, lingered as he caught his breath. “Where are we?” Of all the things he wanted to ask, to say, this was the easiest. Not to mention the most irrelevant, but he shoved that thought away.   
  
  
Jack let go of him then, tinkering with his wrist strap as he shook his head. “Somewhere I’d never been. It’s the first planet in this system that I checked, though, once I got to this part of space. From what we got on the mainframe after the device went off, it was…” His lips thinned in frustration, a portion of the helpless anger he remembered shadowing his eyes. “It wasn’t worthless, but it couldn’t pinpoint you. It gave us a likely section of space you’d been transported to but there were no other details and it was too big. I’ve been trying everything; you have to believe me, I-“  
  
  
“Of course I believe you.” Ianto’s eyes cut to John as he said it, willing him to understand the ‘Don’t you fucking hurt him with this’ that he couldn’t vocalize just then. The way Jack beat himself up over incidents of far less magnitude there was literally no telling how deep this had cut him, not until Ianto got a better chance to assess the damage in any case.   
  
  
John’s eyes widened with mock innocence, his voice soaked in it when he spoke. “Right, right, course you have! Wouldn’t doubt it. Cause you always come back, don’t you Jack? Wouldn’t ever leave a man behind…well, except for the times you have. But, doesn’t matter, you’re here now, only-“ They’d been about to interrupt him, he and Jack both, but John slung an arm around his shoulders, yanking Ianto back hard against him in a move that brooked no argument, too strong to resist. Not that he would have, not that he thought of anything beyond freezing in place, eyes downcast so he wouldn’t have to see the way Jack looked at him, at  _them_. Fuck.  _Fuck._  “-you  _do_  know, it’s been awhile. Three years. Lot happens in three years, wouldn’t you say? I mean, you’d remember, a  _hell_  of a lot happened in five when we-”   
  
  
“You know, we always end up having the same conversations and yet you wonder why I’m not always interested in talking.” There was something deliberately light about it, something too easy, and he could hear Jack shift as he cleared his throat. “So, the two of you-“  
  
  
“ _Oh_  yes.”   
  
  
“I was talking to Ianto.”  _There_  was the first real indication of it, quiet enough words wrapped around steel force, leaving no room for doubt as to his message. If John had forced him into this, Jack was going to take him apart. Jack was ready to defend him, so certain of a loyalty Ianto apparently didn’t possess. God, it was nauseating. He swallowed, absently amazed his mouth could ever get that dry.   
  
  
“Couldn’t get rid of him after we landed. Kept hanging around and then…we’ve got this flat, just a few blocks down and-“ His fumbling wasn’t making the truth sound any better and he knew it, but all things considered he felt lucky to be getting that much out.   
  
  
“I’m impressed, I know he’s hell to live with and I don’t even put much effort into keeping a place up.” It was as carefully distanced as the rest, funny and safe and even followed with a laugh that rang hollow to Ianto’s ears. When he finally looked up Jack was focused on the vortex manipulator again. “Well, it should work for the three of us, but I’d travel light if I were you…think you can leave most everything here?”   
  
  
“Almost. There’s a couple things. Have to run back to the flat.” Jack’s name was on the tip of his tongue, a dozen explanations hovering behind it that he knew now wasn’t the time to give. Still… “Jack, I-“  
  
  
“We should get going, I’ve been making a lot of jumps with this thing and the last thing we need is to have the power give on us now.” He fastened the cover, gestured ahead of him into the crowd. “Lead the way, it’s probably best if we head back soon as we can.”   
  
  
From there, time seemed to travel in jerks. On the one hand it seemed a whirlwind, a rush of dashing in the door and snatching Nos close to his chest before shoving him into John’s arms to free his own hands up to dig for his diaries. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jack taking the place in, photographs and art and their bed with the sheets still rumpled, and Ianto was torn so far in two it felt like his brain was splitting. For three years, his life had been here, so much history lived in these rooms. He’d started to think he’d grow old here. Part of him wanted to take it all in, frantic glances that tried to settle on images just long enough that his brain might soak it up like a sponge. The view from the window, the couch where they’d first kissed, the sink he’d spent so many nights doing dishes at after work. John would come up behind him before he left to slip out into the streets, hands sliding under Ianto’s shirt as he kissed the back of his neck and whispered, “Wait up for me.” .   
  
  
The rest of him, those parts kept wanting to keep his eyes on Jack, to watch him to see just how much this hurt, to maybe catch his eyes just right and somehow lessen all of this, to have a whole conversation where they never said a word just like they used to. It was the moments closest to that that seemed like they stretched on forever, the moments where Jack seemed just out of reach, where hearing his laugh in this place seemed so surreal it just  _couldn’t be_ , where John stepped into Ianto’s line of sight and all but commanded his attention, shifting everything. There was an edginess to him, born of jealousy but mingled with something Ianto couldn’t quite define yet, and he kept close, kept pulling Ianto’s thoughts up short and reminding him that no, none of this was a dream, not Jack and not this world they’d lived in.   
  
  
They left from the center of the living room, standing in a patch of brilliant sunlight near the balcony. Nos was crying, mewling over John’s shoulder in frustration at being held so long. Jack activated the manipulator, Ianto placed his hand on top, and John’s covered them both, fingers linking so tight with Ianto’s they felt like a vise.   
  
  
In a wavering shimmer of light, the last glimpse of the world he’d come to love was gone. Like it was a dream he’d soon wake from, Ianto absently found himself remembering that he hadn’t returned a coworker’s book, hadn’t told the landlord they were leaving, hadn’t quit his job. In fact, he’d only stepped out for lunch.   
  
  
By the time those thoughts came to him, he was back in the hub.   
  
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
In the instant Jack’s office started to materialize around them, he thought he’d be struck by its familiarity. When everything came fully into focus, all he could notice was how much it had changed. The desk was still the same, of course, and all the furniture, the view down into the hub…no, the basics were there, but the atmosphere was worlds apart.   
  
  
Jack’s desk was a jumble of paper, scattered piles listing against each other until they seemed to combine across their tops into a kind of hazy shuffle. Two drawers on the filing cabinet stood open, and a shirt was hung from the corner of one of them, dried blood darkening the tips of the sleeves. It was a wreck, ridiculous and yet-  
  
  
“Sorry.” Jack’s voice was soft from behind him, his hand for just an instant brushing Ianto’s back after he drew it away and closed his strap. “We always told you we’d be lost without you.” It was almost teasing but a little strained, too much truth for it to actually be funny. Honestly, Ianto had already been thinking it. Looking around at the tangible evidence of his absence, he wasn’t sure whether he should feel warm at the proof that he’d been missed, that he left some sort of hole behind him or if it was more crushing, a painful reminder that while he’d been stuck out there in the wide universe, he’d left Jack scrambling back here.   
  
  
Somehow, in all his thoughts of home, he’d never quite realized that truth as fully as he did then: he’d been lost, sure, but Jack had been the one really set adrift. He knew where Jack was, knew he was back home and relatively safe and carrying on. For all Jack knew, he’d transported himself straight into the heart of Alpha Centauri.   
  
  
John let Nos down to the floor and sauntered forward, leaned against the glass on one arm as he took in the dimly lit floor below them. After hours; everyone was home. If there  _was_  an everyone these days, if there was more than Gwen and…  
  
  
“Is, is Gwen-“  
  
  
“She’s fine.” Jack’s voice warmed around the words, like the mention of her had eased some of the tension he carried. He leaned back against his desk, reaching back absently to scoot a stack of papers into a less precarious position. “She’s spent a lot of time helping look for you, at least at first but the past year or so, she’s had a baby and since we were never sure where to look anyway…” He shrugged, clearly tried to make it sound like less than it was, less like ‘She gave up on you’ and more like time at home was all it was. Hell, maybe he was wrong. Maybe, maybe it had been. “She won’t believe it when she sees you. She’s tried to tell me a hundred times that…”  
  
  
“Well, she did have fair odds on being right.” John turned against the glass, leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes narrowed as he studied Jack, like a lion squinting at a shape in the distance that might be prey and might be trouble. “Took me awhile to convince Ianto we actually came out lucky. Of course back then, he wasn’t quite as open minded.”   
  
  
Nos fluttered around at waist level, his paws clumsy as he tried to strike out at the sleeves of the hanging shirt. Here, even in a place he’d seen weevils and magic and a thousand other indescribable things, Nos with his leathery wings and rich fur so purple it came just shy of being black seemed suddenly, startlingly strange. He hadn’t so much looked it before, not when Ianto had grown used to his kind in a dozen other colors and variations of shape long before he’d met this little fluttering ball of fur. Ianto caught him out of the air, his fingers itchy in a way he couldn’t explain to feel that fur for himself, the pull and stretch of muscles under still loose baby skin as Nos tried to wriggle away and back to his play. Struggling against his hold, Nos was utterly, undeniably real.   
  
  
Ever since he’d reached the fountain and heard Jack,  _nothing_  had quite felt real, not even Jack, not even though he kept telling himself he couldn’t possibly have made him up, not like this, not  _now_. Shushing Nos as he draped his paws against his shoulder, Ianto looked up at Jack to find he was already being watched.   
  
  
“This is Nos. He’s a bit of a mess.”   
  
  
“We’ll find a place for him, can’t be too careful with him until then though, I’m pretty sure I already know what Myfanwy would think of him.”   
  
  
God, he hadn’t thought of her in…when was the last time? He told himself it couldn’t have been long, that he’d remembered her plenty, missed her and worried about her and hoped Jack changed her dinners like he always had so she wouldn’t get bored. Still, now, he couldn’t pinpoint it. Everything,  _everything_  felt like a dream, like the way his mind sometimes shuffled things about, hiding information from him and giving him only what was of immediate importance. The only anchor was Nos, squirming and scratching his arms and drawing blood in a way that grounded him enough to be comforting, and for the most part, John and Jack started to talk around him.   
  
  
It turned technical, the transporter and nearby planets Jack had searched that John might know and it stretched on, right up until Jack mentioned telling Rhiannon and Ianto tried to pull his scattered thoughts back into a semblance of form.   
  
  
She thought he was dead. It was all Jack could tell her, really. Of course it was. She could never know about the places he might be and besides, it was actually a fairly reasonable assumption. Jack’s voice dipped when he said it, not wavering but dampened in a deadened way that was almost worse, as if he’d said the words too many times already. For maybe the twentieth time, Ianto stopped himself just short of going to him, sliding his hand around to rest against the nape of Jack’s neck and pull his head to rest on Ianto’s shoulder. It would be so easy. Jack would lean in and close his eyes and for a minute, just a minute, he could ease just a little of Jack’s burden. At least, it had always seemed that way, before.   
  
  
Just feet away, though, there was John, sprawled back against the glass in a way that might have looked casual but didn’t to Ianto, not after so long of learning the way he really looked with the tension eased out of those lean muscles. Everything about him was familiar now, his stance and his scent on the air that Ianto was close enough to truly catch and the faded grey t-shirt he wore with two holes near the hem on the back(not that he could see them now but he knew, he was the only one that ever washed it.).   
  
  
All of it preyed on his mind, sense memory stirring on his skin and telling him that now, now that was right where he belonged. Even John’s hand on his wrist as they moved out the door not long after felt  _right_ , even as it burned him to see Jack’s eyes flicker down to track the movement.   
  
  
They were supposed to be on their way out for the night, on their way to Rhiannon’s and an explanation and it was then, on the threshold of Jack’s office, that Ianto’s Torchwood training caught all the way up with all his shock. The insane labyrinth that was his emotional state aside, this was happening, had happened already, and he owed Jack a dozen things. Explanations, clarifications, proper words, not bloody small talk about the seri and the paperwork on his desk and whether or not Gwen thought he’d died out in the vacuum of space.   
  
  
He pulled his hand away only to reach out and catch John’s sleeve with it, murmuring in a tone aimed only at John though he was pretty sure Jack wasn’t so far back he couldn’t hear.   
  
  
“I need to stay.” He said it even as he realized how it might sound, already swallowing and pulling up a second try as John’s eyes glimmered. “I have to talk to him. Alone.” That wasn’t much better. “John,-“   
  
  
John grabbed his shirt and tugged him off balance, bent his head down to Ianto’s for a kiss. It barely lasted a heartbeat, but John’s teeth caught just a little painfully on his lip as he pulled away, and Ianto could feel his skin burning, a distorted mixture of heat and unavoidable guilt and shame.   
  
  
“Suppose I’ll go find the car.” He waved the keys to the SUV before him, showing off just how easily he’d pulled them from where they’d been seconds ago in Ianto’s pocket. With John, that could mean everything from ‘I’ll be waiting’ to ‘I’m leaving without you.’. Ianto didn’t ask. He handed Nos over, watched John’s retreating back and listened to his boots down the hall even longer. Watching gave him an excuse, a reason to keep leaning and delay closing the door.   
  
  
He’d meant to tell Jack he was sorry, more than once. Sorry it had happened, sorry he gave up, sorry it had worked out, sorry he had feelings for John at all. All those sorry’s were still there, hovering, but twitching crawl he’d felt across his skin when John kissed him had dredged up a hell of a lot more.   
  
  
When Jack kissed him by the fountain, undeniably, he’d felt guilty, but he hadn’t had it in him to regret it, hadn’t even been able to pry his fingers away from Jack’s coat without physically forcing himself to let go. When John had kissed him here, where Jack could see…  
  
  
It had hardly lasted, and even then it was all he could do not to put a hand out to his chest and push him back. In that moment, his first thought hadn’t been about John at all, had only been about how desperately he wished Jack wouldn’t have had to see.   
  
  
There was no excuse in the hallway anymore, even the sound of John’s boots long gone. Slowly, so slow he nearly flinched at the click of the closing, Ianto pulled the office door shut. 


End file.
